


Motorcycle

by sheafrotherdon



Series: A Farm in Iowa 'Verse [35]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-03
Updated: 2008-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:11:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets a day off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motorcycle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dogeared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/gifts).



"Here," Rodney says, pushing John's motorcycle helmet into his hands. "Wear this, and take this – " he pulls a ragged $20 bill out of his pocket, balancing Merrie on his other hip, ignoring how she's pulling at his earlobe, " – so that you can get gas if you need it, or water, or, I don't know, a suspicious hot dog from a vendor in Decorah, anything you want, just no alcohol, but you know that, you wouldn't do that, anyway. Yes."

John blinks lazily, helmet in one hand, twenty in the other. The kitchen's full of morning sunlight, and the table's covered in toast crumbs and smudges of jam. Somewhere outside, Finn's yelling at pirates. "What?"

"It's just, you never get a chance to ride her anymore," Rodney says, pink around the edges, hair disheveled and standing on end. "That's if she's a her – I don't mean to assume, I shouldn't, what do I know about bikes? – but . . . anyway, your bike, you don't get to ride your _bike_ very much, it's all cars and trucks and I just – shopping for a bigger car, Sunday, it made me – it was all so _respectable_ and you're not. Really. Respectable, that is." He's full-on blushing now.

"I'm not?" John asks, smirking a little.

"I hope not," Rodney confesses, and Merrie claps her hands, crows delightedly as if she gets that one of her parents is a disreputable handyman with what many would consider a thrill-seeking character flaw.

"So, I should just . . ."

"Ride," Rodney says softly. He shrugs, looking baffled and fond and then smiles at his own confusion. "I just – take the morning and . . . You know?" He rolls his eyes. "Just . . ."

John's chest gets tight and his words run for cover, so he's a little rough when he grabs Rodney by the back of his neck and pulls him in to kiss his forehead. But Rodney looks proud as John pulls back, as if that was the reassurance he needed that he gets where John's coming from, has his back, knows his number, and John grins at him, shakes his shoulder a little maniacally, kisses him on the lips, kisses Merrie (who's drooling and smells of oatmeal), grabs his jacket and heads for the door.

God. His _bike_.

"Have fun!" Rodney shouts, and John laughs a little, joy singing up from the soles of his feet that he has all of this – a family, a home, a bike, a belonging, a back-forty pasture full of scurvy landlubbers hiding from the Crown. And as he climbs onto the bike he takes a breath, rubs a fist over his heart, and only then can ease out onto the road to speed beneath the edges of a morning that's silver with quiet, the world holding its breath, shouting out, finally, as he bends his body to the pavement's curve.


End file.
